


take a deep breath (i'm your oxygen)

by astralscrivener



Series: abc's of klance [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), F/F, F/M, Gen, I'm Writing A Sequel To This So Don't Sweat The Ending, M/M, Magic-Users, Multi, Shiro And Adam Are The Group Dads, The Other Paladins Are There But Weren't Important Enough To Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21781831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: k is for knell.The raw energy coursing through Keith’s veins as he unleashed fire in a torrent almost like rain, and water wound around them like a wildfire, both of them switching between hot and cold—searing water and freezing flame…he’d never felt more alive, never felt more sure than he did with Lance’s hand in his, never felt more sure that if they really wanted to, they probably could have taken over the world.The gang has one mission: get Lance back from the Druids of the Komar.Dealing with the Druids is always easier said than done.
Relationships: Adam & Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: abc's of klance [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/960195
Comments: 18
Kudos: 99





	take a deep breath (i'm your oxygen)

**Author's Note:**

> _title from breathing oxygen by zayde wolf_
> 
> hello gang welcome back to another edition of "eileen wrote this in a sleep-deprived haze as she marathoned the end of nanowrimo and somehow it wasn't terrible"
> 
> edited, as always, by my lovely beta and best friend [nicole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeneevee/works), who has to sift through my sleep-deprived garbage and find whatever shiny stuff is buried underneath it, she's like a professional archaeologist but for words
> 
> nicole ily
> 
> anyway this oneshot is more intense than some of the others, i'll elaborate in the trigger warnings but just know  
> 1) this is getting a sequel so don't sweat the ending  
> 2) i feel like some of the imagery and shit rivals the intensity of stars go down/deceit so natural, so do with that information what you will  
> 3) i have some audacity calling this a kl oneshot when adashi arguably features more than klance does  
> 4) this is set in the same fantasy world as FIRE UP (LET GO) and day 27 of LIGHT UP THE PATH (THROUGH A SKY FULL OF STARS), both of which i'm too lazy to link here
> 
> anyway
> 
> **trigger warnings for some graphic violence and gore/body horror. the worst of it happens right at the beginning and then in the paragraph AFTER the line that starts with "Keith swung his fist . . .", distressing scenes, basically as i labelled it in the google doc "horror movie shit but make it fantasy." i think i covered my bases and i apologize if there's anything i missed**

**.:knell:.**

Keith hit the ground, wind knocked from his lungs and stars scattered across his line of sight.

Fire roared around him, control ripped from his grasp as he wheezed, and found that it got harder to breathe with every passing moment. His limbs ached and skin felt as though it were stretching tighter around his bones, muscles withering, and a laugh so achingly familiar rang out, echoing around him where there should’ve been no echo. Keith’s chest heaved as he tried to sit up and only managed to get to his elbows, raised just enough to gaze at the figure standing over him.

“What, are you really that surprised?”

Water swirled around Lance’s hand and coalesced into a ball as he opened his palm, growing wider the more Keith’s skin felt as though it dried out, cracked. His tongue, too—sandpaper in his mouth as he tried to speak and managed nothing beyond a hoarse cough. The darkness on the edges of his vision crept in, and for a moment he was certain his eyes had rolled back into his head; when they righted themselves, Lance’s grin had gotten wider, more sinister as he stalked forward until he had a foot planted at either side of Keith’s torso.

“I’m sorry, Hothead.” Lance’s voice dropped to a serene whisper. “I’m just doing what I have to, and you just happened to get in the way. You tend to be good at that—crashing in, messing things up…it’s no wonder people leave you.” He swept his eyes around them, at the ring of fire closing in. “You really have a thing for burning your bridges, don’t you?”

Keith couldn’t see straight anymore. Several Lances all undulated in front of him. His smile faded, from sinister to wistful, and he sighed, casting a long look at the ball of water in his hands. A flick of his wrist, and it traveled ribbon-like around his arm, twisting and swirling.

“I almost think it was more fun when you were screaming at me,” Lance said. “Guess we’re done here, huh?”

Another flick of his wrist, and the water dropped; it hit parched, dry grass, and almost immediately evaporated. Keith gasped weakly, reached one hand out, only for Lance to plant a foot on his chest and send him back to the ground.

“I could end you,” he said, drawing a dagger from his belt, turning it over in his hands. In the firelight, the blade gleamed, imposing dark iron with an onyx hilt set with amethyst and spinel stones. “I’d finally get to one-up you. Be better than you.”

_I thought we were done with this._

_What happened to you?_

“Done with this?” Lance threw his head back and not just laughed but _cackled_ , and maybe Keith would’ve sensed something wrong, if he’d been thinking straight, but it was getting harder to breathe, and he had no more fight left in him to move. “Please. You know me, Keith! You think I’m _done_ with things? No! Do you know how long I’ve been sitting on this? How long I’ve been _waiting?_ ”

Keith’s eyes burned, but no tears sprang forth—he had none left.

“All this time, waiting to get the jump on you, waiting for you to finally let down those walls…and look at you now. I think it would be a disservice to kill you so soon, you know? It ruins the taste of victory.”

Keith only comprehended about half of his statements, what with his eyelids shuttering and body shutting down on him, but they were still just as difficult to bear, daggers of their own into his heart. His expression must’ve betrayed his feelings exactly; Lance’s grin started to widen again, but abruptly vanished, as his head snapped up. Keith could only catch glimpses of him, consciousness beginning to fade in and out—could only catch glimpses of firelight turning his typically-blue eyes a sinister yellow, could only catch glimpses of fangs in the corners of his mouth—

“NO!”

_Nightmare…just another nightmare…_

Keith sat up soaking wet in a patch of fire. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and flames flickered at the edges of his hair, his fingertips. They burned with the erratic beating of his heart, his breathing. He gasped a few times before he could even start to get himself under control.

_Nightmare…you’re okay…_

He lifted a trembling hand to his face; sure enough, his skin was fine, full of moisture and not clinging gauntly to his bones. His mouth was a bit dry, but his eyes were wet, undoubtedly. Groaning, he scrubbed a wrist over both of them and scowled. Third nightmare this week, and the third time there was no one around to help him through it—not that he needed it. No, he didn’t need help.

But maybe he would’ve liked some.

And, okay, he was lying to himself just slightly, because he wasn’t alone. A rather large group snored around him, tangled in various knots—Shiro, with Adam wrapped around his back; Romelle, with her face buried in Allura’s neck; Pidge, knocked out with her hood over her eyes and a book still open on her chest, while Matt slumped over next to her head. Hunk and Shay, who’d been taking watch when Keith fell asleep, leaning against each other and against the tree where they’d taken up position.

Each and every one of them, fast asleep and oblivious, because that was how it always was.

Keith swallowed the lump in his throat, blinked back the tears still trying to gather, and focused his attention on the flames around him. He spread his palm over a burning patch of the ground and closed his eyes; in his vision, burning red strands of magic shimmered around him. He closed his hand into a fist, and they gathered into one bunch; a flick of his wrist and a tug, and they vanished, and when Keith opened his eyes, the fire was gone, left as a little ball in the palm of his hand. Another pump of his fist, and the ball dissipated into nothing but smoke.

With that, Keith lay back down, wide awake now.

Stars glittered in the clear sky overhead. On nights when the group was out doing something or other, and he and Lance took watch together, Lance would start drawing nonsensical constellations over the real ones. The first time he’d done it, so many years ago, he’d put up an entire argument with Keith over what made one constellation more real than another, and why if the ancients could make constellations, why couldn’t they? Then it went from merely drawing them to thinking up elaborate backstories for each, epic tales of heroes who never existed, monstrous creatures from their wildest dreams and most horrifying nightmares, anything and everything to pass the time—and maybe anything and everything to hear Lance talk.

Lance talking soothed Keith in a way he initially hadn’t expected. He was animated, lively at every turn. He could go on for twenty minutes or more if no one stopped him, and Keith listened to every word that came out of his mouth and cherished it.

Staring up now, he heard Lance weave again the story of the dragon-riding pirate, the ballad of the cursed princess, the rose made of lightning. Ridiculous stories, exaggerated stories, _Lance stories._

Even lost in the memories of Lance’s voice, though, Keith was alert.

He bolted up at the first sound of movement, head snapping in the direction of their campsite. At first, he thought it might’ve come from just beyond, either a wanderer stumbling upon them or a predator finally finding its prey, but then his eyes fell upon the group again, and found both Shiro and Adam sitting up, watching him carefully, expressions sympathetic but guarded.

“You alright, kiddo?” Shiro whispered across the way.

Keith almost lied.

Almost.

But his hesitation was answer enough—Shiro frowned, and then he and Adam stood up, walked over, plopped themselves back down on either side of Keith and pointedly ignored the ashes of what used to be healthy tufts of grass. They each slung an arm around Keith, heavy on his shoulders as he buried his face and drew his knees up.

When the first sob broke free of him, cleaving him from the inside out and setting him shaking, they held onto him a little tighter, bowed their heads with him, acted as shields against the rest of the world, just like they’d done the night Lance was taken from them, when Keith not only broke down without warning in the middle of Shiro’s study, but collapsed entirely, magic spent, exhaustion bearing down on him, horror eating him alive.

It was just like the way they’d done the day they found Keith out in the field, drained of the water in his body and on death’s door, claiming Lance was the one to leave him in that state; once he was healed and had tears to cry, he cried every last one, trying to put the pieces together and figure out what the hell happened, trying to come to terms with the fact that it’d been his boyfriend’s face hovering over his with an unparalleled malice.

“Can you talk to us, bud?” Adam asked after some time, once the worst of Keith’s crying had subsided, and nothing was left behind except for some sniffling. “What’s going on with you? Another nightmare?”

Keith raised his head only slightly, so that his words wouldn’t be so muffled. He stared, eyes unfocused and hollow, at the ground. “Yeah. It’s the same one.”

“Keith…” Shiro squeezed his shoulder even tighter for a moment before he loosened his grip again. “I’m sorry. I wish we could do more, but…”

“No, no, I know.”

The only way to fix unsavory dreams was maybe someone with the power to control minds, a power that none of them had and a power almost too terrifying to think about, when they knew who _did_ have it.

“Do you wanna go for a walk? Get some air, clear your head?” Shiro offered.

“Takashi—” Adam started softly, warningly, but Shiro lifted his hand to Adam’s forearm, squeezed him gently, and shook his head.

“We won’t go far, and you’ve got your tracking spell on all of us. It’s not like you won’t know if something happens—and it won’t.”

Coming from anyone else, anyone who didn’t have the ability to see into—well, not _the_ future, but _a_ future, the most probable at the given moment—those words might’ve come across as nothing more than a promise made to be broken. But they were from Shiro, who _could_ do that, and so Adam relented. He nodded, uttered a quiet _okay_ , and then stood up.

Shiro and Keith followed suit, Shiro with a steadying grip on Keith’s elbow, until both of his legs were underneath him, in no danger of giving out.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Shiro said quietly, turning to Adam and kissing his cheek. “Watch the others, okay? If something happens, just shout for us, and we’ll be back as quickly as possible. I love you.”

He said that last part almost inaudibly, and Keith’s gut twisted.

Shiro claimed he was cursed, and that it was his fault this curse had seemingly spread to Keith, but sometimes Keith just chalked it up to a cruel twist of fate, that the both of them were overly-familiar with how important it was to tell someone they loved them before departing even just for a quick walk. That, and they were familiar with never leaving an argument unresolved, Shiro more so; he’d imparted that wisdom to Keith early enough on to spare him the heartbreak of finding out how those situations ended firsthand.

“I love you too.”

Adam didn’t merely say it. He stepped forward, and reached for the dark brown stone dangling around Shiro’s neck on a gold chain, and touched it to the identical necklace he wore.

They were soul necklaces, almost the equivalent of an engagement ring or proposal. Artisans with a particular set of magical skills could twine the magic of all willing parties into sets of two or more necklaces that, when worn, amplified the wearer’s powers, warned the wearer of any harm come to whoever wore another necklace in the set, and in extremely rare cases, allowed wearers to swap their powers with each other. Such a thing was dangerous, almost unheard of. It was akin to stealing powers, one of the worst abilities to have, an ability often associated with the Druids of the Komar, and for good reason.

Keith and Lance had done it just once before. Sort of.

The raw energy coursing through Keith’s veins as he unleashed fire in a torrent almost like rain, and water wound around them like a wildfire, both of them switching between hot and cold—searing water and freezing flame…he’d never felt more alive, never felt more sure than he did with Lance’s hand in his, never felt more sure that if they really wanted to, they probably could have taken over the world.

And then that was taken from him.

While Adam and Shiro were too wrapped up in their little moment, Keith lifted a hand to his own necklace, tucked underneath his shirt. He cradled the stone—deep purple, streaked through with red and blue highlights. This was no stone known to nature, but specially crafted for them, then and there. A combination of their favorite colors, a symbol of their respective powers, a physical manifestation of their relationship.

The stone flickered with a dim light.

Stones only lit up for two reasons: in the face of intense emotion, like it had done the day they’d had the stones and necklaces crafted; or when one of the wearers’ lives was in danger. A handful of weeks ago, it’d been a brilliant light, flashing erratically while Keith gasped for air and tried to staunch the bleeding in his stomach. Hours later, the flashing cut out, and then returned as a dull flickering, the same dull flickering Keith watched now.

_You’re out there, somewhere._

Somewhere, too far away for Adam’s tracking magic to reach—too far for Keith to venture off to on his own, not without attracting some kind of trouble and worrying everyone else around him, people who hadn’t hesitated to join him when he’d been so willing to go alone.

“You ready?”

Shiro pulled away from Adam with a glance at Keith, and Keith nodded.

He was grateful to move, because he wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon, and needed to be doing _something_ , but they couldn’t go far—they’d have to return to the campsite at some point, dashing any progress they’d make.

He didn’t say those things out loud.

Instead, he carefully let his necklace drop beneath his shirt and started walking alongside Shiro, while Adam drew one of his two daggers and watched them go, something wistful in his expression, like this wasn’t the first time he’d had to watch Shiro walk away.

Keith tore his eyes away and set them upon the ground.

He and Shiro walked for some time in silence, broken up only by the sounds of sylvan night—leaves and dirt crunching underfoot, distant owls who remained to brave the cold of the coming frost, wind rustling the last of the leaves that still clung to otherwise bare trees. Their gnarled, bony branches clawed their way up through the dark sky, reaching greedily for the stars, seeking to tear apart each and every constellation—

“Keith.”

Keith flinched at Shiro’s hand on his shoulder, and realized then just how tense he was; smoke curled off the tips of his hair, one shred of panic away from bursting into flame again. His knuckles were white as his fingers clutched the hilt of his knife, resting in the sheath on his belt.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m just…I’m scared.”

He admitted it in a small voice, returning his gaze to the empty treetops, like inky cracks wending their way through the universe.

Shiro followed his line of sight with a deepening frown and squeezed his shoulder. “We’re going to get him back, Keith. He’s a strong kid—you’re all strong kids.” He kept his mouth open, like he wanted to keep going, but then closed it, brow furrowing and eyes unfocusing. Keith watched him from the corner of his eyes, chest tightening.

He used to get annoyed when Shiro called him a kid—first out of teenage indignation, and then because he really was an adult—maybe a fledgling adult, but adult nonetheless—and couldn’t bear with another set of fetters on him. He’d had enough, those years without a family, those years hiding away from his true self, and didn’t know how he’d react to being restrained, again.

Now, though, all it did was make his heart hurt.

“But you shouldn’t have to be as strong as you are,” came Shiro’s next quiet remark. “It’s alright to be scared. I would be, too.”

That last statement settled heavily over Keith, as he reached for his shirt, to feel the bump of the pendant underneath.

He and Lance…they hadn’t really come outright and said they were together. They’d been close for a long time before making it official, and never really bothered—they just sort of got the sense that everyone else assumed, and with so much else going on, between the Mages of Oriande and the Druids of the Komar and the rumored return of the Paladins of Voltron, they never really got the time to make it a big deal. They didn’t _need_ to. So a few months together became a couple years, and Shiro and Adam were really the only ones of the group privy to any details—Lance could only come over and share Keith’s bed so many times before an explanation was warranted.

They hadn’t breathed a word about the soul necklaces.

That, they did have plans for—sometime in the future, the first quiet day they had, they were going to say something, going to take out the necklaces and show them off and make _something_ official, for once. It’d been the first clear path Keith had seen in his life; this one was solid, straightforward, smooth. If he could rely on nothing else, he could rely on his always being at Lance’s side, and Lance standing by him.

Terror clouded that path now, too.

He and Lance were supposed to tell everyone about the necklaces together, with the gang in one large group, a one-and-done deal. But Lance wasn’t here, and Keith didn’t…he didn’t know if he was ever coming back, didn’t know if they were ever going to get that chance…

“Hey, Shiro?”

Keith swallowed thickly, kept his eyes on the ground as he reached underneath the collar of his shirt and closed his fingers around the stone, pretended he could feel something in it like the beat of his own heart, or maybe the beat of Lance’s.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s possible…” He hesitated, words gathering at the tip of his tongue as he clung tighter to the stone. He stopped walking, screwed his eyes shut as he heard Shiro stop next to him.

“Do I think—?”

“Do you think it’s possible to track someone down through a soul necklace?”

The words left him in a rush, an exhale that left his shoulders sagging and his grip on his necklace so tight that any tighter and it might’ve broken the chain around his neck.

For a moment, silence reigned; with his head down, Keith couldn’t see the way Shiro’s brows shot up and knitted in concern, the way his lips parted but no words made their way out; but he felt Shiro’s hand finally drop from his shoulder, heard the crunch of the dirt as Shiro turned to fully face him and took a step forward.

“Keith, why are you asking? Did you and Lance…do you—?”

“Yes.”

Keith’s face burned as he raised his head and lifted his hand, opened his fingers to reveal the purple stone, sitting inside of a woven nest of silver, a swirling design whose shape he and Lance never really agreed upon. Lance claimed it looked more like a fire, Keith called it an ocean wave, and at the end of the day, it didn’t matter, because maybe it was neither of those, or maybe it was both. Now, with another glance down, Keith’s eyes traced over the pattern again, peered beyond it at the red and blue streaks inside the stone. The longer he looked upon the stone and its dully-pulsing light, the harder it became to breathe, to see…

_Say something,_ Keith urged, tearing his eyes away and looking up at Shiro.

Shiro stared at the stone for a long time, expression troubled, before finally, he sighed. “If the circumstances were different, I’d sit down and have the Big Brother lecture with you, and ask you if you know the commitment you’ve made, if you’re sure, that stuff. But we’re short on time, so—yes, you can. It’s difficult work, because that stone weaves the threads of your magic so tightly it’s almost one, and difficult to pick them apart to track one in specific. But it can be done, and because your magic is so tightly interwoven with Lance’s, you can use your own magic to bolster just how powerful Adam’s tracking magic’s connection to Lance is.” Shiro’s eyes flicked down to his own necklace. “It’s…that’s how Adam found me, a few years ago. But because it was his own magic both tracking me and trying to boost our connection…it was taxing on him.”

Keith remembered that, the mess it was trying to find Shiro after he went missing alongside Matthew and Samuel Holt.

He’d been on his own for the hunt, at first. Adam and Shiro had fought earlier that week, right before the disappearance. Keith spent his nights bouncing between the Holts and his other friends, and when he didn’t come home one night, they’d all gone after him—Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. Along the way they met Allura and Romelle, met Allura’s godfather-slash-uncle of sorts, met Shay. Reconvening with Adam was an accident, when they found Adam passed out in the middle of nowhere, drained and exhausted.

They’d been lucky to get to him before the Druids.

“But it won’t be as taxing this time, right?” Keith asked. “Because I’m the one boosting it?”

“Right,” Shiro confirmed. “We still don’t know how far Lance is, so we don’t know if Adam will be able to get a connection to him, but it’ll be more than we’re working with now.”

Keith didn’t hear all of that.

Halfway through Shiro’s statement, movement between the tree limbs caught his attention, a shadow among other shadows, a familiar frame that sent his adrenaline spiking as he drew his knife from its sheath.

“Keith?” Shiro asked, grabbing him by the arm. “Keith, what—?”

“Someone’s over there.”

He pointed with the tip of his dagger; Shiro tried to follow Keith’s clear line to the humanoid figure that’d come to a halt, presumably staring, although Keith couldn’t be sure. However, when he looked up at Shiro’s face, expecting to see a spark of recognition, maybe concern, all Shiro wore was confusion.

“Keith, there’s no one there.”

“What?”

“There’s no one there, Keith.”

“But I’m—” Keith whipped his head around, cutting eyes between Shiro and the figure; the figure tilted what Keith assumed was its head. “I’m staring right at it, how do you not…?”

Keith’s eyes widened at the same time Shiro’s did. His mouth shut with clacking teeth as his dagger elongated into a flaming sword, and he spun in a careful circle, illuminating the space around them. Meanwhile, Shiro gripped his shoulder again, harder this time, more grounding—trying to get a read into the most likely future. He did this often, needed to keep himself steady and anchored. For all Keith knew, Shiro might’ve been trying to read into _his_ future, specifically—he needed a tether to the target of his sight, after all.

“Shit,” he whispered a few seconds later. “Alright, Keith, don’t do anything drastic.”

“Drastic? Me?”

“ _Not_ the time. There’s at least one Druid here, and you’re definitely under an illusion right now. Instead of manifesting a physical illusion, they decided to target only one of us…like an idiot.” Shiro added that last part in a sigh as he let go of Keith’s shoulder, dropped his hand to his own belt and reached for a knife. “I’ll tell you right now that what I saw didn’t end well. I don’t know how it got to that point, but…”

Shiro’s next sigh trembled.

Keith understood.

“What about the others?” he asked, dropping his voice, still sweeping eyes around the area, while more shadows appeared before him, all identical to the first figure, sending a spear through his heart, hopes deflating.

“I don’t know whether what I saw happened because we warned them, or because we didn’t,” Shiro answered. “But if Adam’s the only other one awake, and he’s been trying to track Lance…”

“Okay,” Keith said. “Nothing drastic, warn the others…what do we do?”

“We’re going to carefully get back to the campsite,” Shiro said, and started walking, slowly, each step deliberate. “If things go south, _then_ we fight. Follow me, and whatever you see, it’s just an illusion focused on you, okay?”

_Illusion. Right._

Keith’s eyes wandered back down to his hands and remembered them shriveled, water stolen from under his skin. Had that all been an illusion? Had that Lance not existed? Had that been Lance? Had Lance been possessed? Controlled? Had someone shapeshifted into Lance?

Was Shiro an illusion?

His friends?

“Keith, you’ve gotta stay calm,” Shiro warned, the second new fires sparked up at the ends of Keith’s hair. He must’ve taken notice of the stress lines around his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. “It’s okay, kiddo. The Druids do this. They can sense what you’re afraid of, and they thrive on it. It’s hard to tell the difference at first, but you’ll know when something’s not right. You listening?”

“Sure.” If listening meant it sounded like he and Shiro were underwater, if listening meant it took some time for Shiro’s words to actually sink in because he was too busy preparing to defend himself from an attack, then he was all ears.

More shadow figures manifested around them as they walked, as everything in Keith urged him to break into a full-on sprint, but Shiro seemed to notice exactly none of them—his eyes never flew to one in surprise, he never drew to a halt, never seemed to realize they were being surrounded on all sides. So they pressed forward, and Keith clamped down on his usual impulses.

Keith didn’t think they’d wandered far to begin with, but it was nearly ten minutes before the campsite came into view, and Keith noticed just how utterly silent the woods were.

_Or maybe that’s all part of the illusion._

For once, Keith held his tongue, not because it was the best course of action but because he couldn’t bring himself to say something; terror clogged his lungs and throat, a sort of terror he hadn’t felt since childhood; he remembered clearly being the kid smaller than the rest, his knife and himself against a cruel world, hiding away and biding his time and endlessly thinking, mapping, plotting; getting the hang of his powers on his own, too afraid to reveal the way he burned but so afraid of going too long without exhibiting any sort of power at all—

_Calm down. Calm down. That’s how they get you._

_That’s how they got Lance._

Keith’s free hand sought out his stone; he clutched it tightly between his fingers, a recently-formed habit he’d have no hope of shaking any time down the line, and tried to stretch his powers as far as he could, tried to reach through the stone and feel Lance’s, that cool, calming presence that always kept him grounded, kept him calmer, reassured him…

It took damn near an eternity before he and Shiro finally came upon Adam, who took in the presumably pale look on Keith’s face and the barely-concealed panic on Shiro’s and immediately demanded an explanation; and while Shiro offered one, Keith roused the others, voice shaking as his eyes darted to the nearby trees and saw those figures _still fucking watching him_ and _closing the fuck in._

“Keith, there’s no one over there.”

They all repeated the same warnings Shiro gave him—each and every one of his friends, seeing nothing while Keith saw an army lying in wait.

_There’s at least one Druid nearby, and they clearly want something with you._

He never drew back the flames running up and down the blade of his sword; the firelight kept him warm where the rest of him went cold and numb, and if he stared into it long enough then some of the figures disappeared when he raised his eyes.

Except for one, standing right in front of him.

Keith screamed, blade dropping to the grass; one flick of his wrist, and the fire extinguished before the grass could catch. In those brief seconds before the light went out entirely, he caught the face in front of him: a little battered, more gaunt than it was the last time Keith cradled it between his hands, and _grinning_ like he didn’t have blood running down his cheek from a cut near his temple.

“Hey, Hothead.”

The Lance in front of Keith tilted his head, grin softening to something more familiar, something more comforting, comforting enough for Keith to let his guard down for two seconds. He paid no mind to the others seeming to have ignored his screaming, nor to the other shadows around him. Just the boy in front of him, who reached out a hand to cup Keith’s cheek.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lance remarked softly, thumb running along Keith’s cheekbone. Keith couldn’t even respond before whatever spark existed in Lance’s eyes winked out, leaving dark pools behind, while his smile turned crooked, sharper somehow. “You haven’t yet, my dear, but you will.”

_Fuck. FUCK._

Keith’s fist swung out before he realized what he was doing; it would’ve connected with Lance’s face, but Lance’s face flickered, shimmered, and his fist passed straight through, while Lance threw his head back and cackled.

“Please!” he said, hand passing down _through_ Keith’s cheek, _into his throat_ , before becoming solid again—before Keith choked—before Lance slammed him to the ground and ripped his hand from his throat, right alongside his sword—“Look at you. So helpless. Just _seeing_ me is enough to undo you? How pathetic.” Was he—was he holding Keith’s vocal cords—? “Can’t imagine what you’ll say when you see him for real.” A glance at— _what the fuck is he holding,_ are _those my vocal cords_ —the object in his hands, and, “Maybe you won’t be saying anything.”

_Breathe, breathe—_

_This is all fake—_

_This isn’t real—_

Keith wheezed, hands flying to his throat, tears cutting down the sides of his face—

“Keith!”

One voice, then several, and the Lance in front of him—there was no Lance in front of him. Keith hadn’t even seen him vanish. In the space where he once stood, Shiro and the others rushed up to him. They surrounded him, pressing in. Under other circumstances Keith would’ve demanded his space, but he shivered now, sought out the warmth they offered and the protection from whoever was around them.

Allura knelt down beside him, firing off questions as to whether or not he was truly hurt, and if he was, what _did_ hurt? Romelle knelt down next to her, a supporting hand on her back and on Keith’s shoulder as she helped him sit up. Shiro squatted in front of him, Adam right behind him. Hunk and Pidge crowded in on his other side, Matt and Shay behind them. Unlike the rest, Matt and Shay kept their backs to the group, eyes sweeping out over the forest beyond. A beam of light shot out from Shay’s hand, while Matt knelt down and pressed his hands into the ground, channeled his earth magic for…whatever reason, Keith didn’t know and couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Keith, what happened?”

“Are you okay?”

“One minute you were fine, and the next you were just on the ground—”

“Everyone, quiet. Give him some room,” Adam’s voice cut above the rest.

The others settled and silenced, shifted over slightly to give him the space to breathe, to talk; breathe and talk he could, as he dragged in lungful after lungful of air, squeezed the hand Allura offered to him.

“I-I…there was an illusion, i-it was…Lance. He’s in danger, he—he said that I looked like…” _You’ll be in hysterics in a minute if you don’t calm down._ So Keith paused, tried to keep breathing.

“That’s it,” Hunk murmured encouragingly. “Take your time. We’re right here.”

“We don’t _have time_.” Keith’s voice still went high, borderline breaking, _but you have to power through._ “It was an illusion of Lance, and he said it looked like I’d seen a ghost, and then he said I hadn’t yet but I _would_ , and that’s—”

“A threat,” Allura finished for him, and Keith nodded.

“So whoever has Lance—”

“The Druids,” Shiro interrupted Pidge, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So the Druids,” Pidge corrected, “are going to kill him soon, but wanted to warn us, is that what we’re getting at here?”

The rest of the group traded glances while Keith ducked his head, tried not to let the panic set back in.

“For all we know, Lance could be dead already,” Shiro said, and when Keith’s head snapped up, he held up his hand. “I’m not saying it to be mean or to scare you. I’m saying it because that’s how they operate. If they’re sending us a warning, obviously they want us to come. If they’ve killed him and they’re giving us this warning, they want us to have a false sense of hope to lure us in before they do something to us. If he’s alive, then either they need him, or they _need_ us to take this bait.”

“ _Bait?_ ” Keith demanded, stomach roiling.

“Poor choice of words, my apologies,” Shiro said. “Either way, we’re not going to leave him for dead. We’re going to get him no matter what. I just need you to be aware that the Druids, for one reason or another, _want us_. And we need to be prepared for that.”

“That, and know also that Shiro’s said all of that potentially within earshot of a Druid,” Adam added, arms crossed.

Shiro’s first reaction was to glare in his direction, but that got Keith’s attention. He sat up straighter, more alert as his head swiveled, and he scanned the trees around them; dozens of shadows still lurked, seemingly unaffected by the light beams Shay threw out.

_But you’re here somewhere…_

“Does anyone have any qualms about taking hostages?” Keith blurted, before he could consider how the others would take that question. He wasn’t one for a cruel streak. He had more of a protective streak than anything, but sometimes those things overlapped, and he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry for it as he staggered back to his feet, taking up his sword.

“Keith…,” Shiro started with a grimace, but then glanced at the others, really tried to weigh the question, consider the repercussions.

“They have Lance,” Hunk pointed out quietly.

Between that, and Shiro’s speech earlier, Keith felt no less sick; still, he managed a grateful nod as he gazed out at the others. One-by-one, all of them seemed to come to the same consensus, before their eyes fell to Shiro, the deciding vote: unanimity or nothing.

Another day, maybe Shiro would have given him the whole _eye for an eye makes the whole world blind_ speech, bullshit about being the bigger person and not stooping to your enemy’s level. But who was doing the stooping, really, if the Druids had the upper hand to begin with?

Keith needed a running tally of every time Shiro sighed, because he did it again, in defeat this time. “How do you suppose we go about that?”

Keith looked at Adam. “Can you track a Druid through their magic?”

“Yes,” Adam said. “It’d be more difficult than making a direct connection with their person, but it’s not so difficult that it’s impossible. The only downside is that I’d have to drop my tracking on all of you—it’d be too much on my magic to try and track a Druid, too.”

Keith only half-listened, eyes still drawn to the shadows that still lingered in the trees, still multiplied. Momentarily, Keith’s head spun; he stumbled, and several sets of hands flew out to catch him before he could lose his balance entirely.

“Whichever Druid is here, they’re still keeping up their illusions on me,” Keith said. “We’ve been surrounded by shadows for a little while now. None of you see them, right?”

“Right,” a few of the others confirmed.

Keith turned expectantly to Adam. Adam nodded, solemn, and laid his hand upon Keith’s forehead, closed his eyes, and concentrated. The whole time, Keith watched him; it wasn’t a very long time, because a few seconds in, Adam’s brow furrowed. His fingers dug in just slightly, presumably as he tried to concentrate harder, until he let Keith’s forehead go with wide eyes.

“Adam?”

“Keith.” Adam glanced around the area, growing pale. “There’s no magic on you right now. There’s something residual, like there was a little while ago, but nothing for me to latch onto. You’re clean. The rest of you—one of you…” He turned automatically to Shiro, stood a bit on his toes and laid his hand on Shiro’s forehead, while Shiro gripped his other arm to steady him.

It took not even a second for Adam to rear back. He only remained upright by virtue of Shiro still holding onto him.

“Adam—”

Adam stuck a hand up; Shiro’s mouth snapped shut, as Adam scanned over the group, slowly and steadily recoiling. His arm faltered and dropped back down to his side as he took a step back into the arms Shiro opened to him, holding his biceps from behind.

“I have a read on the Druid’s magic,” Adam said slowly, voice so low Keith could barely hear him. “Whichever Druid this is, they’re incredibly powerful, because not only is Shiro under their influence, but _all of us_ are—except for Keith.”

The group turned to him. Nobody spoke right away, all trading panicked glances, until Romelle piped up, “Then…how do we know that’s really Keith?”

“Romelle!” Keith snapped, exasperated, but Romelle flinched back, while Allura raised her staff in front of herself and her girlfriend; her look was apologetic, even if severe.

“I would’ve detected the Druid’s magic if Keith was an illusion,” Adam explained calmly. He stepped forward, Shiro’s hands sliding from his arms to let him; he took Keith by the shoulders. “Keith, I need you to tell us exactly what you’re seeing, and I’m going to make sure the Druid doesn’t try to put you under an illusion, too. I’ll let you know if that happens.”

“Alright.”

Adam bowed his head, and Keith looked around as the others stepped closer still, pressing in a tighter circle around them. Romelle gripped Allura’s arm, while the blue orb at the top of Allura’s staff glowed a soft white as she channeled the power of the Mages, every bit the image of the wardens who stood against the world’s darkest forces.

Meanwhile, Shay swept a beam of light into the trees around the group, over the nearby river as it burbled quietly in the night. Her light also caught the work of Matt and Pidge, both dropped to their knees on the ground with their hands pressed into the earth, grass and dirt and root and rock rising into walls, defensive barriers that rose painstakingly, inch by inch. 

Them, on either side of Keith and Adam, Hunk and Shiro: Hunk, with a pale green light swirling around his fingertips; and Shiro, with one knife drawn and his other hand braced on Adam’s back as he, too, closed his eyes— getting a second read on the future, a check to see if the course of fate had changed.

“There are shadow people,” Keith said carefully, returning his eyes to the trees. “They’re humanoid in size and shape, and there are dozens of them. Kind of like a small army.” His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. Around the group, the earth molded, shifted, trapping them in with these shadows, while others materialized inside the barrier—the Druid had to be here, then. “They’re still multiplying inside of Matt and Pidge’s dome, or whatever. I think the Druid’s here, somewhere. Maybe disguised, maybe invisible, I don’t know.”

“Anything else?” Adam asked without raising his head.

Keith hesitated. So many shadows, not one dark cloak and white mask in sight. For that matter, nobody bearing an unsettlingly familiar resemblance to any one person in particular, either.

“That’s it,” Keith finally answered, shaking his head.

“Okay.”

Adam raised his head and straightened back out, and found Shiro’s hand still on him, Shiro still entirely out of it. He held onto Shiro’s arm, even as he looked out at the others.

“I’m going to drop my tracking on all of you. Nobody’s to break off from the group, understood? Go with the buddy system—Keith, you stay with me and Shiro, alright?”

“Yeah.”

Keith’s voice trembled. Noticeably.

As a kid, if that’d happened, Keith would’ve cursed himself for it, and then would’ve shrugged off any attempts made by Shiro or Adam to show him any kind of brotherly affection, shrugged off any attempts they made to protect him and take the brunt of whatever came for him, because he needed to be tough, needed to learn to fend for himself if he wanted to survive.

Now, he accepted the hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into Adam.

“Tracking dropping…now,” Adam said, fingers digging into Keith’s shoulder slightly. “Seeking out the Druid.”

Keith felt no change—nothing in himself, nothing in the air—just Adam, tensing behind him as he sought out and latched onto a magic far stronger than his own, and one that had nearly fatally overpowered him before.

The others didn’t stay quiet while Adam and Shiro both concentrated. From the ground, Pidge piped up, “So why do we think, if this Druid can cast a mass illusion on all of us except for Keith, that they haven’t killed us yet? Especially if they’ve made threats against Lance’s life?”

“They want something from us,” Allura, resident Mage of Oriande and expert on the Druids, answered almost immediately, voice hard as she stepped around in a circle, eyes narrowed. “Druids won’t just kill indiscriminately—they want something from their victims, and magic needs life to sustain it. We’d have to be alive to be useful to them. With Lance gone so long, if he’s still alive, his time is running short; it’s as Shiro explained. We may be the only thing keeping him alive right now.”

Keith’s hand drifted to his necklace as his stomach dropped; he reached beneath his shirt, clutched the stone, tried to reach out as if he could feel the pulse of Lance’s magic twined with his own. He wondered, distantly, if he would know if Lance died, or was already dead—if there would have been some jarring change in the necklace and their connection that Keith would’ve noticed. Because if he was supposed to know…

_I’m trying, Sweetheart._

Oh, how Keith wished there existed a magic that allowed its wielder to grant wishes.

“ _Shit_.” The hiss from behind Keith drew him out of his thoughts, as Adam raised his head, followed shortly thereafter by Shiro. They traded glances, arms lowering until their hands met and fingers intertwined and squeezed.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Matt muttered under his breath, turning slightly.

Every eye in the group fell on the two of them; Adam and Shiro looked to each other first, both wan, bags under their eyes too pronounced. Then Adam dipped his chin, a gesture for Shiro to speak first.

“Nothing I saw looked good,” he said. “We’re dealing with a lesser of two evils, unless Adam has any wisdom he can impart to help us avoid it.”

Adam didn’t speak right away. He swallowed thickly, eyes lingering on Shiro’s. “Takashi…it’s her.”

Shiro went stock-still, as the revelation settled over the others. It struck Keith first, whose blade immediately went up in flames. Slowly, the others followed suit, shifting weight from foot to foot, tensing up, magic surging and spiking.

“Are you still tracking her?”

“Mm.”

They both spoke quietly, Shiro squeezing Adam’s hand tighter.

“I need you to drop the tracking. Now.”

“Are you—?”

“ _Now_.”

Maybe it was a costly error, to ask someone with the ability to see into the most likely future if they were sure about what they were asking you to do. It seemed that way, as Adam gave a sharp gasp and pitched forward, and nearly took Keith down with him. Keith wrenched his shoulder out from under Adam’s suddenly-iron-like grip, while Adam fell forward into Shiro’s arms.

“Adam—Adam, honey, look at me.”

Keith had no idea how Shiro could remain so calm, voice even and steady. He held Adam by the arms, hands on his elbows while Adam’s fingers dug into his biceps. His chest rose and fell, sharp, harsh as his ragged breathing.

“Takashi…”

Shiro’s pendant, hanging freely around his neck, pulsed; not just the glow of danger, but the individual threads of color—threads of Adam’s power—all shining, erratic.

“What’s happening?” Pidge asked, eyes wide as they alighted on the stone.

Shiro gritted his teeth, still focused mostly on Adam. “It’s Haggar, and she wants Adam’s powers.”

Another function of the soul necklaces, why they were so powerful and why getting one was something someone couldn’t come back from so easily—it made power-stealing all the more difficult, served as a ward against the Druids of the Komar. In getting a stone made, tying your powers to another person, you put your life into someone else’s hands, trusted that person or those people to protect your magic, just as you would protect theirs. It’d been the reason Shiro hadn’t been an empty husk when they found him, why getting to Adam before he could be taken, too, had been so important; had Haggar had both of them, they would’ve been goners.

Lance had entrusted his powers, his _life_ to Keith, a fact more important now than ever, as Keith sucked in a breath, dropped his pendant back beneath his shirt, and squared his shoulders as he looked to the others.

He met eyes with Allura first.

Her face was drawn in fury, orb on her staff glowing brighter than Keith had seen it in a long time. Around her frame, white light flickered—the outlines of celestial armor, granted to her to summon at will by the White Lion of Oriande when she’d passed her Mage training and pledged herself officially to the cause.

“So…hostages?” Romelle asked meekly from behind her.

“That was before we knew who we were dealing with.” Allura’s statement would have been slightly less terrifying, had her eyes not started glowing. “I thought we got rid of her more than a year ago, but it seems she’s come back with a vengeance.” Her eyes flicked to Shiro still trying to hold up Adam; their gazes met, briefly, before Allura stepped toward him. “My powers are more suited for support than offense. Shiro, Keith, Hunk—this is on you.”

Shiro swallowed, while Adam grunted. “Kick her ass, babe.”

“…I will.”

He relinquished Adam to Allura’s grasp; and while she set to work on getting him sitting down, set to work on healing him and bolstering his magic, she waved her staff.

The world around the group lit up in pale blue and white, as a swirling, translucent dome slowly formed over the area, larger than the earthen sphere Matt and Pidge had been working on. One by one, on each of the others, a version of her celestial armor appeared, suited to its wearer; Keith, Shiro, and Hunk were granted the largest sets, as Keith twirled his blade in one hand, firelight flickering in his eyes. Meanwhile, sparks danced around Shiro’s fingertips, and boulders ripped slowly from the ground and rose in a hovering circle around Hunk.

Shiro had two sets of powers. Everyone was born with one; in rare cases, two—nothing had been heard of beyond that, except in fables that Keith suspected might have just been presented as fables to protect anyone who _did_ have more than two. The more powers you had, the more dangerous you were. It was why Shiro never mentioned to anyone that not only could he read into the most probable future, but could control the weather at will.

At least, he hadn’t mentioned it, until the story of his kidnapping broke.

Hunk, on the other hand, didn’t have two sets of powers. He, like Pidge and Matt, had powers rooted in the earth; each of them had control over a specific subset. Matt was all green life, foliage and flowers and the like. Pidge had control over metals, and had a particular affinity for electronics because of it. Hunk, on the other hand, had control over rocks and precious stones—telekinetically, he could dig boulders ten times his weight from deep beneath the ground and throw them like it was nothing.

And Keith?

Well, Lance hadn’t granted him the nickname _Hothead_ for nothing.

He stepped forward with his blade drawn, sandwiched between Shiro on one side and Hunk on the other. While nothing around the area changed for him, except for some of the shadows vanishing, he could pinpoint the moment things changed for the others, when even Haggar became overwhelmed by the sudden presence of Allura’s magic, pushing against hers. Gasps, probably as the remaining shadow people materialized; Adam’s breathing steadying, and the lights dimming on Shiro’s stone, as Haggar withdrew such a focused attack.

“We know you’re here,” Shiro called out. “You know what we want, and we know what you want. Show yourself.”

There was no negotiating with a Druid of the Komar, much less their leader. Keith expected something snarky in response, maybe another attempt at an attack. He didn’t expect silence, like maybe if Haggar waited long enough, they’d get sick of waiting, or maybe they would think she’d vanished.

“You’re within the domain of the Mages of Oriande!” Allura shouted after over a minute of silence. “It would be wisest to surrender now!”

_“Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it?”_

“Oh, not this again,” Hunk groaned.

Haggar liked to play with her victims. Keith remembered the first time the group had ever even _tried_ to face her, the way her voice echoed around them in nothing but a distorted whisper. Before, it had made sense for it to echo the way it did—they’d been in close quarters, underground, surrounded by dark stone. Here, there was no reason for it. The hair stood up on the back of Keith’s neck as Haggar’s voice floated around them, almost tangible, almost ghostly.

_“It makes me wonder why you wouldn’t take your own advice.”_

“It’s nine on one,” Shiro said, still calm. “We defeated you before, and we can do it again, but we want to end this civilly.”

_“And you can, Champion.”_

Shiro stiffened at the nickname.

For all his time being free of her, he’d never really delved into how that nickname came about. Whenever he even heard the _word_ champion uttered out of context, his eyes always seemed to go distant, his hackles seemed to rise…and Adam was there. Of all of them, Adam had the most insight as to the details of what Shiro had gone through, because Adam was the one who sat with Shiro on his darkest nights, held him through the nightmares, kept all of his secrets.

Including this one.

_“There’s one among you who’s more desperate than the rest,”_ Haggar’s voice continued on. _“I think he would give himself up in a heartbeat, if it spared the rest of you and got him closer to the water-wielder.”_

Hunk and Shiro’s hands automatically shot out and gripped Keith’s arms, trapping him in place.

“Don’t you dare,” Shiro muttered to him, with a severe look from the corner of his eye. “You saw what happened to Adam when he went alone.”

Keith had, and yet…

“Keith,” Hunk whispered, a little more pleading where Shiro had been commanding. He opened his mouth to go on, to make his case, when the air before the three of them shimmered, and a hazy image appeared:

Lance, unconscious and bleeding and chained, slumped over on a stone floor. He was shivering—Keith caught every little tremor, caught the tears in his leather armor and his tattered shirtsleeves.

“What did you _do to him?_ ”

The words tore out of Keith, enraged as he lunged forward—or would’ve. Shiro and Hunk yanked him back, even as Hunk’s teeth worried at his lower lip, and thunder rumbled overhead, clouds rolling in, blocking out the stars and the moon.

If it had been just some vision, some glimpse into Lance’s current state, maybe Keith would’ve given into being restrained, would’ve tried a little longer to hold his tongue, would’ve allowed himself to stop and think and work with the others. But at the sound of his voice, Lance stirred.

He raised his head. Before, Keith hadn’t been able to see his face, but now he pushed himself into a sitting position and turned, slowly.

_“Keith…?”_

Dirt and grime, dried blood. One of his eyes was black all around, a burst blood vessel coloring his sclera a deep red. A streak of white shot through the chestnut tresses of his hair, only a momentary distraction from the wrong set of his nose—broken, undoubtedly. He looked up, seeing mostly through his one eye while the blackened one watered.

His eye widened.

_“Guys…?”_

“Lance!”

Keith struggled against Shiro and Hunk holding him back, while Lance scrabbled against the floor, managed to get to his knees and surge forward as much as he could before he was jerked back, handcuffs digging into the skin around his wrists and giving him only a limited range of motion.

_“Keith, how—where—?”_

Keith had a reply ready, as he finally slipped out of Hunk’s grasp. Without the added support, Shiro didn’t stand a chance; he had to let go before Keith took him down, and then Keith tumbled, knees hitting the ground. He ignored the pain shooting through them as he tried to reach for Lance, reach for this shimmering image of him—

“Lance, we’re coming, alright? We’re—”

And it vanished, leaving Keith’s hand to connect with nothing but air.

“Nonono—Lance!”

Keith hit the ground on his forearms.

That’d—that’d been Lance, _in person_. A portal? A magical two-way mirror, of sorts? Keith didn’t know, didn’t give a _fuck_ about any of it except that he’d been _right there,_ _so damn close,_ Lance just out of reach, suffering…

Keith’s breathing ran shallow as he raised his head, looked around with glassy eyes and a pale face. And while Shiro and Hunk reached down to pull him back to his feet, Haggar’s voice rang out around them again, and Keith recoiled.

_“So you’ve seen him, and you know he’s very much alive. How much longer he remains alive is now up to you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry
> 
> anyway as i stated before this is getting a sequel don't sweat it too much!!! i love y'all thank u for reading
> 
> if u enjoyed this pls consider supporting my college endeavors which have eaten all my time as of late, links to support me are in my pinned tweet on twitter!! see u in the next oneshot!!!
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener) | [nicole's twitter](https://twitter.com/queen__eevee) | [my other fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/works) | [nicole's fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeneevee/works) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/astralscrivener)


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